


I'll Let You Sing Off-Key

by FunkyinFishnet



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: First Time, M/M, Male Slash, Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-03
Updated: 2017-05-03
Packaged: 2018-10-27 18:08:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10814091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FunkyinFishnet/pseuds/FunkyinFishnet
Summary: Despite not winning at Wrestlemania, Sheamus and Cesaro still celebrate and find a way not to argue, at least not for a little while.





	I'll Let You Sing Off-Key

 

 

 

There were worse ways to celebrate Wrestlemania, Cesaro reflected as Sheamus wrapped his mouth around Cesaro's cock. They'd barely had two drinks at the disreputable bar Sheamus had insisted they visit after their part in a show was done, and now here they were; in their shared hotel room, half dressed, and completely occupied by each other.

 

 

Wrestlemania had been the usual incredible spectacle and Cesaro was glad to say that even though they hadn't won the tag team titles, they had rightly starred on the main show. The Hardys would not be able to hold off younger competition forever, not when ladders weren't involved. Cesaro had more than a little faith in himself and Sheamus as a team. Not something he'd contemplated a few short months ago.

 

 

But here they were. They'd seen the trainers, done a last round of interviews and left the stadium, still happy despite the loss. Cesaro had been relegated to the Wrestlemania preshow before, Sheamus had once only wrestled for a few short moments on the show. They both knew the value of what they had worked so hard to achieve tonight. And they had done so together, another great achievement, considering Cesaro had been so sure that he alone would make the team a success when they'd first been forced together. Because he knew Sheamus; to fight a man was to know him and yet, here they were.

 

 

Cesaro smiled, a hand dropping to touch the side of Sheamus' head. Sheamus' hair was thick with sweat and the grease he'd used to style it many hours ago, if 'style' could ever be a word applied to Sheamus' appearance. Sheamus pressed into the touch, his mouth as strong as the hands that were currently palming Cesaro's thighs, still bared by the kilt he'd donned after the match.

 

 

Sheamus had been very agreeable when Cesaro had first talked about wearing a kilt. It was Wrestlemania – they had to dress for the occasion. There'd been something in Sheamus' eyes when he'd set his gaze on Cesaro in kilt and tailored jacket and perhaps Cesaro had admired how Sheamus had looked too, his shape and attitude fitting the kilt very potently.

 

 

Sheamus suddenly removed his mouth enough so that he could talk but stayed close to Cesaro, his breath so hot. Cesaro didn't let go of him, irritation and disappointment swirling now with the lust that had vaulted through him since Sheamus had surged towards him once they'd reached their room.

 

 

“Tony, man, I can't understand a fucking word you're saying right now.”

 

 

Cesaro frowned; he hadn't been speaking. But Sheamus offered no further clarity, sucking Cesaro down again with a sort of growl that said he wanted to finish what he'd started. There was the rasp of Sheamus' beard and the cool touch of his piercings. Cesaro's lips parted and uttered a murmur. Oh, well, perhaps it wasn't surprising he'd spoken without realizing. He was a multi-linguist and he liked stimulating conversation. This was stimulating.

 

 

The pressure from Sheamus was increasing now, all the different textures of his touch combining brilliantly, and Cesaro, braced as he was against a dresser, could vaguely glimpse a mirror in the en-suite. There was the occasional impression of haphazard tailoring and the brilliant colour of Sheamus' hair and pale skin that could belong to either of them. Cesaro groaned.

 

 

This was not the first time he'd found himself sharing more than a hotel room with a tag team partner, though this was certainly the least likely occasion. It'd never been a certainty or inevitable but previously he'd chosen to team with someone like-minded so it had never been a shock. This was. Not an unwelcome one, which was the surprise.

 

 

They'd shared the elevator up and there'd been something in the way Sheamus had baldly eyed him and how he'd made no attempt to stay out of Cesaro's personal space. Sheamus had aways been irritated by that sort of behaviour before when it had been turned on him – he'd even been opposed to a hug from Bayley. How he'd been in the elevator, that had been a very marked difference.

 

 

Cesaro was not complaining. Sheamus was proving to be very skilled with his mouth.

 

 

He was as intense as expected, it matched how he was about everything or so Cesaro had witnessed so far. But there was finesse as well, a sense of experience and skill despite the way he'd pounced on Cesaro. Sheamus wanted to make this good. He was succeeding.

 

 

Cesaro pulled on Sheamus' hair at a particularly deft tongue movement and got increased pressure and a loud growl-moan in return. No biting though. Sheamus was a savage but it seemed he could actually be restrained, in this one incidence. Cesaro smirked downwards and Sheamus' gaze glowered. He did the tongue thing again, and again, and again, until Cesaro had sworn in at least three languages. He could feel Sheamus' smirk now.

 

 

Cesaro kept his hand in Sheamus' hair and pulled a little more, for revenge and because the moans and growls it unleashed made Cesaro push his hips a little faster. Sheamus didn't choke or grumble, he moaned more. Cesaro had a grip on the dresser with his other hand, his legs were starting to shake now but he had every confidence that he could hold himself up until the end. He wasn't going to be beaten.

 

 

He wasn't going to miss a moment either. He could feel it coming, powerful and sudden, and he tapped Sheamus' temple as a warning though Sheamus stayed right there which made Cesaro match his groans until everything – and after a long day like today, it truly felt like everything – had passed. It was one of those moments where he and Sheamus was truly on the same page, creating somethng special. Those moments had been increasing since Sheamus had first started listening to Cesaro and not just argued with him for no good reason (though those arguments had not disappeared completely, at all). If only he'd started listening sooner.

 

 

Sheamus didn't pull away for a bit, seeming to want to tease Cesaro once the sensitivity set in. Cesaro shoved him backwards and Sheamus went without complaint, getting to his feet with dripping facial hair and barely a grimace for knees that Cesaro knew were past their best.

 

 

Cesaro stretched out a leg experimentally – not cramping, a little sore – and levered himself away from the dresser at last and passed Sheamus the hotel-issue box of tissues. Good, his hands weren't shaking. Sheamus tore out a handful and mopped his face dry. He was unbearably smirking and – Cesaro soon noticed thanks to Sheamus' kilt – he was still hard himself.

 

 

“Some of us have stamina, Tony.”

 

 

Cesaro shook his head. Some were impossible. He removed his jacket and hung it up – he'd send it for pressing before turning in for the night - and unbuttoned a few shirt buttons. Sheamus' eyes followed his fingers' descent, his breathing gaining weight as Cesaro reached for Sheamus' cock and then, with Sheamus distracted, pushed him down onto one of the beds.

 

 

“Oy!”

 

 

Cesaro gripped Sheamus' cock again and smirked at how Sheamus' protest broke off into a moan. Cesaro could make this last for many hours but that was for another night. Now, Cesaro watched, pressed close to Sheamus, as Sheamus jerked his hips up, his cock moving beautifully in Cesaro's hand until he arched and Cesaro's hand dampened. Sheamus was a savage with no manners but he could look good, in and out of his clothing.

 

 

Cesaro dropped his head to touch his mouth to the deep scar that adorned Sheamus just above the eye, courtesy of The Club. He could feel Sheamus' forehead wrinkle, then a smile form. Sheamus' hand touched Cesaro's neck, then Cesaro wiped his wet hand clean down Sheamus' chest. Sheamus snorted, not a complaint at all.

 

 

When Cesaro backed off a little, Sheamus grabbed a handful of Cesaro's unbuttoned shirt and kissed him hard. No teeth again. Then he let go, slapping the shirt back into place.

 

 

“Taking the other bed tonight.”

 

 

Obviously. “Agreed.”

 

 

Sheamus eyed him – had he seriously considered not sharing? Again, no complaints. Clearly sex was the route to gaining more compliant agreement with Sheamus; a tactic Cesaro was not adverse to. Apparently neither was Sheamus. They could agree on more than Cesaro had realized.

 

 

Sheamus made his way into the en-suite, singing off-key. Always he was off-key.

 

 

“C'mon, Tony, come scrub my back.”

 

 

If that was a tactic to make Cesaro recoil and leave Sheamus to waste the body scrub Cesaro regularly ordered online, it was a terrible one. Cesaro shed his shirt and kilt, dropping both into the laundry basket – housekeeping was efficient here and he'd get everything back by breakfast if he called them before turning in for the night. Sheamus had already turned the shower on and was still singing.

 

 

Of course Cesaro had to correct his tune. How else would Sheamus know he was wrong?

 

 

_-the end_

 


End file.
